Oathbound
by suicidemouse
Summary: "Alec," he said quietly, "have you ever had to fulfull an oath on the Angel before?" /AU, A/M, J/C, multichapter/
1. Prologue

_**A/N:**__ Wow. Here's an odd, kind of trippy prologue to my new multichapter fic. If you're confused, everything will be explained later. (And according to the poll results, the majority wanted to see the OC's I was planning on putting in, so those guys will be making an appearance. As a compensation for the naysayers, though, they will play quite a minor role – assuming this plot goes according to plan.)_

_I have high expectations for myself for this fic, so updates will becoming slowly. I'm putting off LooH for a while to work on this. It should get better as it goes along, because this is kind of a rocky start. But yeah, here you go. (Sorry for any mistakes, I was impatient with this part.)_

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing except my fic. CC owns all characters, settings, and quotes from the book._

"_You can rant all you want about honor and honesty and how mundanes don't have any of either, but if _you_ were honest, you'd admit this tantrum is just because you're in love with him. It doesn't have anything to do with - "_

_Alec moved, blindingly fast. A sharp crack resounded through her head. He had shoved her against the wall so hard that the back of her skull had struck the wood paneling. His face was inches from hers, eyes huge and black. "Don't you _ever_," he whispered, mouth a blanched line, "ever, say anything like that to him or I'll kill you. I swear on the Angel, I'll kill you."_

_-City of Bones, page 300_

**Prologue**

Alec Lightwood, in his lifetime, would come to regret very many things he had said. Everyone would, but none more than Alec.

Hurtful lies, painful truths. Angry accusations, apologetic confessions. Declarations of love, fierce verbal slaps of intense hate.

And then there were the oaths, with no opposite on the other side of them. They simply were; there was no alternative. No promises broken. All of them were kept by some law that couldn't be excused, a rule that bound him by the throat, that tied strings around his arms and turned him into a simple puppet.

Alec doesn't know why, but as he sleeps that particular night, one specific memory is dancing behind his eyelids, racing out of the darkness of mind. One single oath he'd sworn, one he shouldn't have to worry about, because Clary knew what was good for her.

Still, in his sleep, the boy can't help but shiver.

_Don't you _ever, _ever, say anything like that to him or I'll kill you. I swear on the Angel, I'll kill you._

The distant recollection. Regret washing through him like a tidal wave, dousing his anger.

…_don't you evereverever…_

Behind his eyelids, blurred words begin to swirl in a random pattern, only a few coming into focus and only for a few seconds.

…_say anything like…_

Able to feel the memory whispering on his fingertips. The feeling of anxiety a dark shadow in the pit of his stomach, like a demon he couldn't manage to slay.

…_kill you…_

Now, the feeling coming back, stronger and more sickening than ever. Immeasurable anguish twisting in his chest as pain, fury, desire, and a sense of purpose lance through his limbs.

…_on the Angel…_

Those same limbs writhing in discomfort, fingers trying to jerk away from the memory to grab onto something, anything, real and current. The same mouth that uttered those unforgivable words gaping open in soundless torture as something begins to build inside his body, inside his mind. Eyes rolling back behind closed lids.

_I SWEAR ON THE ANGEL, I'LL KILL YOU._

This time, Alec finds the voice to scream as the words jump out at him, and he wakes, eyes flying open and rolling helplessly, an unwelcome voice whispering into his mind's ear.

_killherkillherkillherkillher._


	2. 1: Telling the Wrong Secrets

**A/N:** _So here's the first chapter! Sorry it took so long, I've been totally swamped with Script Frenzy and trips and whatnot. Hope this is sufficient in length and quality! (I'm not sure I like it much, at least not the first half. I haven't really worked with this style before, so… yeah.)_

_And shoutout time; happy birthday to made-of-win __Alex, who is better known here on as Spun__! 8D_

_Just so you guys know, this is kind of AU; so the scene at Taki's at the end of CoA happened, but the very last bit with Madeline, you know the "I know how to wake your mother up bit" didn't. I'll say it again: EVERYTHING IN THE FIRST TWO BOOKS HAS ALREADY HAPPENED EXCEPT FOR CLARY MEETING MADELINE. So this takes place a few weeks after Jace and Clary's little Taki's scene. Remember: Clary has no idea Madeline exists. She has no ideas about going off to Idris to cure her mother. 'Kay? 'Kay. Here you go! 8D This time, it's 2,326 words of chapter. (Again, sorry for any typos. Let me know if you see any, please. There shouldn't be any, seeing as I got people to check it and I read it over myself about five times, but you never know.)_

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Clary's doubtful gaze was locked on the Institute doors towering ominously over her head, her hand raised, whether to ring the doorbell or pull once more at the ends of her hair in indecision unclear even to her. The doors of the Institute had never looked to her so unwelcoming, unforgiving.

She wondered if that had anything to do with the people _behind_ the doors.

Jace couldn't be angry with her, though… he _shouldn't._

Was he?

After all, he had gone to all his pains to stifle his longing (though Clary doubted it was anywhere as intense as her own) and tell her that he'd be only a brother to her, only to see that look, the expression she must have had on her face of choked horror, absolute abhorrence at the idea of losing the surreptitious glances, the fevered close-but-not-too-close touches, the forbidden thoughts that flashed through their minds like strobe lights, flickering on and off too blindingly quickly and blindingly to really give a clear picture, but conveying a whole novel's worth of feelings. Not just the idea… the _reality._ How she felt about it so plainly written on her face. It must have been like a slap to him.

It was still strange to think of Jace in terms of a vulnerable person, one who could be injured the same as anyone else.

It was even stranger to think of how she was the one that held the power to give him the majority of those injuries on her hands.

Her features hardening with sudden resolve, Clary watched her hand reach out to push on the doorbell of the Institute as though it was physically exhausting. She could feel the pulse that the booming ring sent throughout the grounds in her feet.

The sound echoing through the regal wooden doors awoke something cold and hard in her chest, and she wasn't at all sure why.

It was then that the door swung open. It made them look almost elegant, Clary thought, but not nearly as elegant as the young man standing behind the door. The gold of Jace Wayland could make even the most gorgeous of sights look like a potato.

(Silently, Clary couldn't help asking herself, _Where did the potato thing come from?_)

"Clary." In Jace's mouth, her name sounded like a statement, an exclamation of surprise, a cry of rage, and a murmur of passion all at the same time. She simply took it an invitation, and stepped inside the open doors.

The church bells promptly began to ring, resounding throughout the Institute, as they proclaimed it to be seven A.M. In the 20 seconds or so of no noise or motion that the bells granted them, Clary stood still, watching Jace as Jace watched her. She thought that the absence of golden sunlight on his face would make it less angelic, beautiful, but as the doors swung shut behind them she was quickly proven wrong. The torchlight of the cathedral did Jace just as much justice – Clary was beginning to think that there was nothing Jace couldn't manage to look stunning while doing.

Clary took another deep breath as the last bell sang in her ears and their moment of peaceful silence, respectful staring was over. Jace's words were the first ones to pull themselves out into the trembling aftershock of the bells; "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she forced herself to say, though all she could think about was how everything had gone so horribly wrong the last time their conversation had gone this way. "Don't tell me you're going to Taki's again - "

"No, I was just hanging around, actually." Jace shrugged at her. "Then the stench of Izzy's cooking wound its way up the hallway and under the door of the weapons room, and it told me to get out of there before I was scraping burnt pancake batter off my plate for breakfast."

Clary felt her facial muscles do that little twitch that meant she was about to involuntarily smile. "Nice of it to tell you that."

"The smell? It didn't need to, really. It speaks for itself."

"Look, Jace," Clary said forcefully, "we need to talk."

Jace actually had the grace to look surprised as he led her over to the elevator, leaning against the wall and punching the button that opened the doors in one fluid motion. "What about?" he inquired cooly, sliding into the elevator beside her.

"Us." Proud that the word only sounded a little choked, Clary continued. "Look, Jace, I came here to tell you that what you said at Taki's… that… I… I had wanted to tell you…" Every sentence she tried to formulate sounded weak in her ears. She felt slow, stupid, inadequate. Guilt washed over her – she couldn't do this, no to Jace, or Simon, or… or Alec. She shouldn't do this, no, no, she couldn't. It would hurt too many people.

Clary then marveled at her own ability to feel guilty for trying to pretend she wasn't doing this because of guilt.

"Clary." The very sound of her name, rich in Jace's mouth, made her eyes, glassy with tears, swivel over to meet his. "Are you telling me that…" His voice was low, but his tone underneath was jumping with something; excitement, joy, disbelief, dread, all of that and more.

"No, Jace," she said, feeling small, her own voice even quieter than his. "We can't do this. It's selfish, it's - "

Jace spun her towards him, and Clary was suddenly hyper aware of how close they were, how many empty square feet of space were surrounding them. "Selfish?" he murmured, barely above a whisper, and yet it still felt as if he were screaming in her ear. "Clary, it's anything but. I… didn't you… I thought you didn't want this…"

"I do," she choked out, every part of her trembling. "But not… think of what it would do."

"We could keep it a secret," Jace whispered eagerly, echoing his earlier proposition. "We - "

Clary's throat twisted as the elevator doors slid open. She stepped back from Jace , walking out of the doors backwards. He followed her, walking forward, his eyes never once leaving her face, like she was his _prey_. "Think of Simon, Jace. Think of Alec - "

"Alec?" Jace's total focus on her snapped like a stepped-on twig. "What does Alec have to do with any of this?" His expression clouded over, and he half-joked, "You know, he's gay _and_ taken - "

"_Jace._" Clary couldn't be bothered to wipe away the total disbelief decorating her features. "Don't joke about - " She stopped, her tongue freezing in place. The thought ran through her head like a shooting star:

_He doesn't know._

"What?" Jace was asking her, completely oblivious to the horrible realization she'd just had. "Clary, what are you not telling me?" Clary wanted to tell him to shut up, wanted to scream at herself for being so unfair, so selfish, so _stupid_, but the thought of what she'd just done to Alec rendered her unable to move, speak, or even really think straight. A sensation of sickness swept through her body.

_God, Alec. I'm so sorry._ The words were meant to be uttered only in her head, but somehow they were murmured out loud. _I thought he knew,_ Clary went on, not really caring, _I did. I didn't realize…_

"Clary."

Alec?

No… no, Jace, _his eyes huge and black_… no, no, gold, just gold… _pinning her up against the wall_… what? No, but she's still standing, he's letting her crumple onto him, asking her, pleading her to tell her what it is… _shouting, screaming at her, his fury a cold whisper._

"Jace… he's… he told me not to tell you or he'd…" Nauseous with shame, Clary finally said, "He's… it's not… he loves you." She shut her eyes, swallowed, corrected herself. "He's _in _love with you."

As soon as the words were loosed from her lips, it was all over; the sickness, the confusion, the… was that a flashback? Clary opened her eyelids to look up at Jace, who was staring down at her, one arm firmly holding her close to his side, as if she might collapse. It looked as if he was still in disbelief, but behind the gold liquid she could see his mind working, his memories rushing by like train cars. _So that's why he did that. Why he said that._ _Why he looked at me that way._

"By the Angel," Jace finally said. "And you're… you're _sure_."

Clary said nothing, but ducked out from underneath his supporting arm. He let her, looking – for the first time she'd even seen – as if he might collapse himself. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, but it was much the same problem she'd always had with helping Jace with his emotional issues; what did you say so someone who just found out that their best friend, their _parabatai_, as in love with them? Clary thought about it; what had she wanted to be told when she had found out about the feelings Simon harbored for her?

It was simple. She hadn't wanted words – she'd just wanted the reassurance of someone who loved her.

Keeping that thought in mind, hoping it would be enough to keep her from turning her face away and losing her courage, Clary put a gentle hand on Jace's shoulder. He turned to her, and Clary had to wonder if that was what she had looked like on the day of her similar experience – eyes slick with total misery, features absolutely guilt-ridden.

He opened his mouth to say something, but provided he would have even been able to make anything come out, he was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking – _running_ – across the floor. Both Jace and Clary looked up as Isabelle tore into the hallway, her eyes wide, pinned-up hair straggling crazily down her neck. She didn't even seem to register their postures, or even Clary's presence, instead spitting out frantic words: "Jace! Come on, something's wrong with Alec, I don't know what, he… he just started…" Isabelle broke off with a low noise of confusion, and this time Clary heard it, too; a faint tortured scream sounding in the distance, making her think of the way the sound of the doorbell, too, had seemed to rush just faintly in her ears, tremble in her limbs.

Without a word, Jace tore away and pelted down the hallway, mirroring Isabelle's expression of that of someone stricken thoughtless with terror. Clary and Isabelle followed, making good pace together with one wearing heels and the other wearing short legs.

Alec's door was open, and Jace was first inside by far. As Clary hovered in the doorway, the first thing she noticed was actually the gigantic bookshelves, and the teetering towers of books beside them, that were shoved crookedly against the walls. She had to peer around Isabelle and over a wall of books to finally catch sight of Jace, and…

_That's Alec?_

Clary wouldn't have been able to recognize the dark-haired, pale figure if she hadn't already been familiar with how Alec looked when he was either in intense pain or bordering on dead. Sweat pasted Alec's hair to his forehead, his eyes shining bright aquamarine in the limited light that was coming from his half-opened window. His head snapped up upon her arrival, and she tensed as he emitted a sound that was partly a gasp of pain and mostly a fierce snarl, followed almost instantly by a manic lunge to his feet that sent a pile of books skidding across the floor. Isabelle ran to Jace's side, assisting him in pulling her struggling brother back to the floor.

Alec was shouting, and Jace was shouting back at him, then turning to scream something to Clary, while Isabelle spoke to her brother in low tones that, if anything, seemed to just make him even more agitated. Clary's ears throbbed. Fear was lodged in her bloodstream, confusion making everything seem blurred. Everything seemed to be moving quickly, too quickly for her to follow.

Alec thrashed like an animal, fiercely tearing himself free only to be seized by Jace and _thrown _to the floor. A red welt visible on her cheek, Isabelle ran to his side once more, cradling him the way she had when he was bleeding to death in the back of Eric's van. Still Alec fought her, seeming to writhe in pain as he did so.

While Isabelle managed to hold him down for a moment, Jace cast a quick, pointed look in Clary's direction, looked to the struggling Alec, then back to her.

It was just a moment, but Clary understood.

Alec was _trying to get to her._

Fear made her freeze, as if under a spell.

Jace and Isabelle were trying – and for the most part, succeeding – to wrangle Alec back into the dark corner of the room, where a messy desk, strewn with papers and yet more books stood on old, wobbly legs. It seemed, for an instant, that everything seemed to _stop_. All at once, Alec stopped shrieking, held still, hung his head and shut his eyes. His siblings quieted as well, giving each other confused glances that suggested they were equally lost as to what was going on. For a grand total of six seconds, not a sound could be heard in the room except for heavy breathing.

Then, very quietly, delicately, and sounding absolutely nothing like himself with his voice raw, angry and fearful, Alec said, "Get her out."

As if on cue, Jace and Isabelle both straightened to look at Clary. Clary met their gazes with a kind of choked horror and fear. For a moment, nobody moved. It was quiet for another six seconds, until Alec flung himself down on the floor, screaming, "_GET CLARY OUT!_"

Clary turned and ran.


	3. 2: Impulse

**A/N: **_Wow. This is a long chapter for me. 0__o I'm fairly pleased with it, for once. It's not great, in my opinion, but I kind of like it. Moreso than most of my other stuff, anyway._

_This is dedicated to the lovely Tura, whose birthday was a while ago! 3_

_Sorry it took so long. Haven't had much muse (or time) lately. (I referenced the CoG-divulged fact that Alec has a journal. Couldn't help myself.)_

_Concrit is LOVE, if you have any!_

_........._

Alec Lightwood had lots of childhood memories he tried to repress, but he had very few that he succeeded in repressing.

One of the majority – that seemed to come back to frequently haunt him – was a distant memory from the age of ten, when he was traveling with his parents and sister to visit the Seelie Court. Provided, neither Alec nor Isabelle was allowed inside the Court, but simply made to wait outside the lake entrance. Alec remembered with clarity the intrigue that tugged him forward as Robert and Maryse disappeared under the water, the jealously roiling inside him with the intense need to be included in the life of the Shadow World, the cold splash of the water as it tugged at his boots, his knees, his legs – and suddenly his whole entire body. Alec could always conjure up the feeling of his hands sweeping helplessly through the cold, dark water that surrounded him, his mouth opening to draw in air that wasn't there, little Isabelle desperately reaching for him. At that moment, he had felt as if his lungs had been shot straight up into his chest where his heart was and then crushed, a sensation that lingered days after a fey took pity on the little girl fishing for her drowning brother and pulled him out.

Alec couldn't help but think of the very same feeling as he lay crouched in the darkness of his room, that everything inside his body was floating in water, that his lungs seemed to be totally useless. This was _so_ much worse.

There was something lurking in the back of his mind, something whispering to him, seeming to control his every action unless he somehow managed to bite it back. Compulsions were now demands. Flickers of evanescent thought were becoming entire trains.

And then there was Clary.

The sudden desire to attack her, hurt her, draw her blood and watch her scream was immutable. Alec had thought that he had truly pined over things in his life, but _this_ was desire. He had never wanted, needed anything in the world more than he needed to snap her neck, or drive a blade through her chest, or throw her against the wall again and again until her head hurt as much as his did and more. A memory, an explanation for this yearning was tickling at the edges of his mind, but it seemed to no longer be his own brain that he was dealing with.

Helplessly, Alec curled in closer to the corner of the wall, leaning away from the comforting hands of Isabelle. It wasn't that he didn't want – or need, really – his sister's help, just that he couldn't allow himself to pass this feeling, whatever it was, onto her. Or maybe he'd flip out, try to kill her, too. That was all Alec could think about while Isabelle talked to him softly; _don't hurt her, be careful, be careful, there's no telling what you're going to do and she knows it. And doesn't care._

"Alec," Isabelle murmured again, "it's okay. She's gone. Clary left." Her arms tightening around him, she obviously wasn't giving up anytime soon.

"Izzy," Alec breathed into the old plaster of the wall, feeling his sister squeeze his shoulder in response. "Izzy, I need you to do something for me."

"Yeah, judging by your freak-out, you've been needing someone to do something for you for a long time."

Neither of them were sure if it was a joke or not, so neither of them laughed. Instead, Alec finally turned his head and gazed into what he could see of Isabelle's eyes, dark and somber in the limited light of both the room and the situation they were in. Faintly, Alec wondered if he looked that distressed. Guilt bit at him as he pled, "Don't let me leave. Don't ever let me go after her." His voice tried desperately to not betray that there was something lodged in the back of this throat. "Please, Izzy," he finished, finally falling into her arms and trembling there like someone trapped completely by paralyzing terror. "Don't let me hurt anyone."

"I won't. I'll take your limbs off with my whip if I have to," Isabelle promised.

Alec was lying on a hard, wooden floor in a dark room, shaking and sweating, fighting battles against his own mind, nearly reduced to tears. Every part of him hurt mercilessly. He had tried to kill Clary Fray, thought he almost knew exactly why, and could do nothing about it. A vindictive voice still whispered darkness into his mind. But despite all this, Alec's mouth quirked up at the corners in the beginning of a smile. "I know you will."

Isabelle's voice took on the briefest hint of relief – not like she was actually relieved, but was believing that something that would cause her relief would soon happen – as she half-hauled, half-helped him to his feet, saying, "Come on, we're not sitting on the floor for any particular reason, are we? My legs are falling asleep."

Even though Isabelle was a full few inches shorter than Alec, she somehow managed to hold him to her chest as if he were a small child as they stumbled awkwardly over to sit on the edge of Alec's bed. Alec wondered at this phenomenon – that somehow, against all odds, Isabelle was there for him.

Always.

"Alec," Isabelle breathed into his lank, sweaty hair once they were seated on the edge of the bed, "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he murmured back. "I have an idea. I mean, memories, bits of them, but I can't really think…" He trailed off and let himself slump against his sister's comforting presence, knowing full well he wasn't making any sense at all. Isabelle let him, embracing his shaking body without commenting on his fragments of sentences. For a moment, Alec retreated into the depths of his mind. A silent buzz was drowning out the world, a tone that he couldn't really hear but made him scratch at his ears nonetheless. He let it play around him for a moment, allowed himself to explore the depths of his own sudden madness.

_What are you doing?_

The voice was sudden, malicious, and Alec felt his own muscles betray him by seizing up with fright. Isabelle whispered his name questioningly, but he didn't bother replying. Not to her, or to the voice.

_Idiot. She's running down the street right now – _

_Shut up_, Alec thought feebly.

_Flame hair standing out like a bonfire, making all that incessant noise that mundanes do. It's like she's just waiting for you to come and – _

_Shut _up_! _

"Alec!"

The sound of _two_ voices snapped him awake – the sudden buzz in his ears vanished, and the voice grudgingly retreated to the borders of his mind again. Alec slid his eyes open – he hadn't even realized that he'd closed them – and he cringed. The door to the room was open, and light spilled in from the hallway. The brightness assaulted his eyes. There wasn't much light blocked out by the slender figure swiftly moving in from the foyer. Isabelle, he realized, had called his name, but so had Magnus Bane, his hair plainly hanging about his angular features, which were for once devoid of makeup. Even his clothing was slightly more toned down – jeans and a neon yellow t-shirt. _It's making my eyes water, sure, but at least it's a t-shirt this time._

"Magnus?" Only the shock and confusion of Isabelle's tone reminded Alec that he, too, had no idea why Magnus has suddenly materialized at the door to his room. "Close the door," she began, swiftly adding, "what are you doing here? Well, I mean, I can guess," she said, glancing down at Alec, who slowly brought his face out of her shirt as Magnus obeyed and waved the door shut, "but how did you know?"

"I'm a warlock, honey," was Magnus's simple, clipped reply. His eyes glowed like beacons in the dark room, and they hurt Alec to look at, but somehow he couldn't tear himself away from them. Magnus, it seemed, was having the same problem, gazing at Alec with worry palpable on his face.

Isabelle, grumbling something along the lines of "Thank you, now all my questions about life and the universe are answered," placed her hand on the side of Alec's head and turned it so all he could see was a bit of her hair and his desk, underneath the window across the room. It was then that Alec's waterlogged brain presented him with this fact: Isabelle and Magnus had never really seemed to like each other much at all. Isabelle didn't make much attempt at hiding it, snapping, "Can't you turn off that glowy thing you do with your eyes or something? It hurts Alec's eyes to look at."

Magnus, on the other hand, was much better at playing the game of subtle dislike. "I'm not a firefly," he said calmly, only a slight, forced bit of innocent offense laced into his tone. "That's the way a cat's eyes work. Besides, they're not that bright, and if Alec wants to look away I'm sure he's perfectly capable of doing so." Alec could sense Magnus's impatience as he added stiffly: "Now, if I could talk to Alec for a moment - "

"Why?" Isabelle snapped, releasing Alec's temple from her grasp. "What do you two have to say that I can't hear?"

"You can't hear it," Magnus remarked calmly. "That's the whole point - "

"Izzy, let me talk to him." Alec spoke without turning to look back at Magnus. "Please."

Something in Alec's heart stung as Isabelle snorted and pushed away from him. "Fine," she hissed, and Alec barely managed to hold back an apology – _save it for later_ – as she stalked out of the room, though she had the grace to close the door with only a gentle click.

Then, before he had any idea what was happening, familiar arms were wrapping around him, familiar scent surrounding him. Alec leaned into Magnus's chest with absolutely no qualms about doing so, a wealth of feeling and gratitude welling up inside his chest, and inside his eyes as well in the form of prickling tears. A small noise of distress escaped Magnus's lips at this, and he held Alec tighter, ever tighter, his empathy and sorrow and comfort bleeding into Alec's skin.

"Magnus," Alec breathed softly, unable to resist pressing himself up against the warlock until his chest ached from the pressure. Magnus had a way of making Alec feel that everything was going to be okay; that everything was going to work itself out. Maybe it was because he had lived through so many years and so much torment, and had come out as a completely miraculous person.

"Alec." Magnus's voice was thick with worry and repressed adoration. "Alec, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Who said anything was wrong?"

His laugh was choked off. "I come here to find you crying into your sister's chest, in a dark room, your head _screaming_ - "

"See," Alec grunted into Magnus's shoulder, "that's the thing. How did you _know_ my head was screaming? How did you know something was wrong with me?"

Silence.

Alec was determined not to break it. He waited stubbornly for Magnus to answer, though he supposed leaning into the warlock's chest helplessly wasn't a good way to communicate determination.

Magnus got the message anyway. He always did. When he began to speak, there was something off about his voice – Alec blinked in the darkness, startled. What was it? Was he having trouble breathing? Was something stuck in his throat? "Look," he began slowly. "You remember that night in the truck bed. When you gave me some of your strength."

It wasn't a question, but Alec nodded anyway, his body somehow finding the energy to allow blood to rush to his cheeks at the memory. It wouldn't have looked like much from the view of anyone looking in on the situation – just two men with their hands clasped tightly together, an aquamarine glow swirling between their palms. But sharing his energy with Magnus was easily the most intimate experience of Alec's to date.

"Well." The same odd tone was even heavier now in Magnus's voice, though it was now tainted by humor. It made his vocals sound strained, like a canvas smothered with far too much paint. "See, we… I… you…" Alec felt his already frazzled brain flailing in confusion. Magnus was actually _unable to form a sentence_. And with a slap of clarity, Alec realized why Magnus's voice had sounded so strange; he was unsure, an emotion that Alec had never seen him display before. "I took a bit more than I needed to, I suppose," Magnus finally spit out. "Of your strength. It's still…" For a moment, it seemed that Magnus was considering stopping himself, to save the room from the flood of awkward that had invaded it like an airborne virus. Then, as though he had come to the conclusion that the feeling was too lost to salvage anyway, he finished, "It's still in me. I have a bit of you… inside of me."

"You…" Alec could feel his eyebrows furrowing, and Magnus's small bout of laughter at this. "You saved some of my energy inside of you?"

"Precisely."

"…So… you thought I would react to this _how_?"

"I wasn't sure." Alec was relieved to hear nonchalance back in Magnus's tone. Though, of course, he could always be faking it. (It was starting to seem as if he usually was.) "You know, I know you better than yourself, so while I wasn't sure how you were going to react, you have no idea how you're _reacting_." Alec inexplicably knew that Magnus was grinning. "You're not angry, if you're wondering."

Alec said nothing, so Magnus continued. "I have some of you inside of me, yes. And that's how I know something's wrong with you. Really, _really_ wrong." The Shadowhunter shivered as Magnus's thin fingers lingered gently on his neck, tangling in his stray strands of lengthy hair.

"So you… so you what?" Alec's tongue seemed to be moving even more slowly than his brain. "Is it a mind link or something? Can you hear my thoughts?"

"No, no, you paranoid boy. I'm just highly intuitive to the point where it's a contribution to my rainbow of talents." A soft groan. "It's more like… I can feel a tiny bit of what you're feeling. And when I say tiny," he said seriously, "I mean _tiny_. I can't read your mind, otherwise I wouldn't be demanding to know why this sudden burst of… of _something_ from you brought me to my knees. _A tiny bit of it_." Magnus's voice quickly dropped into a low, serious tone that made Alec shiver. "Alec, even right now I'm struggling to function. Just being closer to you is making it worse. I can't even imagine… well, okay, I can, but it's not one of those things I _want_ to imagine."

The air was beginning to feel a bit like a sponge of emotion. It was as if Alec could feel the collective fear, confusion and despair of everyone who had entered the room swirling around in the darkness and pressing down on him. Whether or not this was accurate, _something_ was putting pressure on his mind, his heart, his every particle. It brought a feeling similar to nausea that made his mind want to beg for mercy. "_You_ can't function?" Though the words themselves were slightly angry, Alec's tone communicated nothing of the like. "Magnus, it's right there. It's right in front of me, tickling at my mind, so I know there's a reason for this, I know this is something, something that's happened before. But I don't… I can't get to it. I can't figure it out, not like this, not while it's plaguing me."

"Tell me," Magnus ordered, not, by the looks of it, even considering pulling away. "Tell me everything that happened, everything you're thinking and feeling."

There was a momentary silence as Alec buried himself deeper into Magnus's shoulder, seeking solace for the words to come, the words that weren't yet in order but still terrifying. Magnus granted it without hesitation, tightening his hand on Alec's shoulder. And somehow, distantly, Alec knew that this was wrong – hadn't they broken up just a few weeks before? – but he needed the comfort, and it seemed that Magnus needed to comfort him.

"I…" Alec didn't know what to say. How to put this into words? For once, words, his words, his sanctuary and comfort, didn't seem adequate. But then again, when he needed to write something difficult (say, in his journal) and didn't know how to get it out, what did he do?

_How did you get here, when did it start, and where are we going? Simple, Lightwood. Simpler than it needs to be, or really is._

"I was sleeping late," he spit out. "I… I've been tired lately. I've just been… having these thoughts. They've been keeping me up." The words hung in the air, but quickly dissipated as Alec plowed on. "I had this weird dream. Was it a dream? I'm not sure. But there was this voice, this memory… it was _my_ voice. But it wasn't me." His hair gently brushed Magnus's arm and Alec's face as he shook his head. "It was me, but I wasn't right. I was speaking strangely, like… like I was powerful. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Alec felt Magnus's slow, thoughtful nod. "Makes me think of the way it feels to cast a spell. Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah, I think so. I was saying… I don't remember. Swearing something… 'if you ever say anything like that to him… I…' I don't remember. I don't remember what I was going to do, but I remember it happened. I said something to Clary." Something in his head seemed to scream. "Clary… oh, it's driving me _crazy_! I woke up, and there was this pain in my chest and this voice in my head, and it hurt. It _hurt_, so much, and I just started screaming. And before I knew it, Izzy was there and Jace was there and… _Clary_ was there."

The name left his thoughts jumping and his mouth tightly drawn. Magnus noticed – like everything else, every other time – and inquired in his silky voice, the one he used when they were alone that was smooth but not a façade, "What happened with Clary?"

"I…" Alec felt his eyes burning. "Magnus, can you not say her name?"

"Of course."

"I tried to kill her." _Please don't pull away,_ Alec begged silently. Magnus didn't. _Of course he didn't, he's seen worse. _"I don't know… there was just this _urge_. I couldn't resist it. And Izzy and Jace were holding me back. I just turned into an _animal_. Snarling, screaming, thrashing like something caught in a trap. I was fighting my mind, what it was telling me to do. I almost lost."

Magnus sounded unruffled. "So you didn't succeed in killing her?"

"No, thank the Ange - " Something forced Alec to choke off the word. Magnus chose not to comment on this, though as Alec glanced up he noted that the irises of his eyes flashed with apprehension.

"And… you swore something to Clary."

"Yes. I… yes. I remember that much."

"She couldn't tell who what?"

"That I don't remember."

"And you don't remember what you said you'd do if she did?"

"No. Though logically, I'd guess I said I'd kill her."

"You can actually function, thank God." Magnus seemed more himself now, composed. He didn't melt into Alec anymore, but didn't push him away or stiffen under him, either, allowing himself to be a tool of consolation. "That's good, Alec. That's right. So she told someone something she wasn't supposed to, and as a result, you have… you want to kill her."

Alec corrected him automatically. "Need. Need to kill her. It was like I didn't have a choice."

"…Oh, _Alec_."

"What?" Alec frowned. "What'd I do? What'd I say? Magnus, _why are you 'oh-Alec'-ing me?"_

Magnus peeled Alec away from his chest, holding the Shadowhunter at arm's length and looking into his face gravely. Worry attacked Alec like a physical force – Magnus didn't look this serious unless something _serious_ was happening. Serious by _Magnus's_ standards, which had to be damn grave. "Alec," he said quietly, "have you ever had to fulfill an oath on the Angel before?"

"I don't think s – oh, wait, yes. Yes. A few times. Like when Mom and Dad were going out when we were younger, and they made all of us swear on the Angel to be careful, not leave the house, not go into the weapons room unless there was danger…"

"And did you ever attempt to go against one of those oaths before? How were you forced into obeying them?"

Instinct told Alec to look away from Magnus's unwavering gaze, but he couldn't bring himself to – separate forces battled inside his head, an unknown impulse to stare back fearlessly raging over him with a ferocity that made him shiver. As if he could see the memories playing out in the green-yellow of the cat's eyes that cornered him, Alec didn't move – he doubted he had the energy anyhow – as he recounted, "Jace did, once. He tried to stick a foot out the window… he couldn't do it. He just couldn't move, not if he tried. Now…" Alec's brain was working well enough to tell him that he was missing something, but not enough to tell him what it was. "Why?"

"You swore an oath on the Angel. Now you have to kill Clary." Magnus looked even closer at Alec. "Don't you?"

"Oh." Alec's stomach twisted. "Oh, oh my God. No. No, that's impossible. That's… I can't do that, Magnus. What the… I can't just _kill Clary_! You can't just - "

"Shh, shh, I know." Magnus released Alec, who, energized by the buzz of panic that was sweeping through him, found himself able to sit up on his own. "Look, Alec, I don't know a lot about you Nephilim. I know more than the average Downworlder," he amended quickly, "but not enough that I'm certain of what to do."

"You can't break an oath on the Angel," Alec said darkly. It was the only thing that came to his mind; he didn't want to think anymore.

"I know. But there are ways… ways to get out of it. Ways to kill the oath."

"Then kill it," Alec pleaded.

Magnus smiled wanly. "It's not that simple, love," he replied gently, affection shining in his eyes. It made Alec's chest ache to remember that Magnus wasn't _supposed_ to be looking at him that way anymore. Though Alec would never admit it, he loved it when Magnus looked at him that way. He sometimes thought that maybe he would someday love it so much that he would be able to return the look. "You're exhausted. Sleep."

Alec wanted to protest, say that the thing was twisting around in his head and if he let his guard down it would get out, run rampant throughout his body like a disease. That his dreams were haunted by the same things that haunted his life, and he didn't want to go there, not right now. But exhaustion made quick work of these thoughts, bullying him into silently lying down on the foot of his bed, knees curled close to his chest. Magnus's hand gently stroked his face. As Alec drifted into sleep, he imagined that he was on fire, and the paths the warlock's fingers traced were putting the flames out.


	4. 3: Outskirts of Heaven

_**A/N: **__I do not deserve you guys and your awesome awesomeness._

_First of all, I just want to thank all of you for not giving up on me (you haven't, have you? Dx), even though I've been absolutely terrible. I hope you like this enough that you won't kill me for taking so long._

_I tried a bit of a new writing technique in this chapter. I'm not particularly fond of it, so if you are, please let me know! Otherwise, I won't be doing anything like this again. On the other hand, if you liked my old style of the previous chapters better, it'd be great to know. Anything would be great to know. Con crit is love. Hell, even pointing out a typo._

_I do believe that's all. Things will pick up soon, I promise… and the Magnus n' Isabelle thing will be brought up more, and explained, later._

.........

Magnus's eyes blurred yet again, the spot on Alec's wall fading once again into plain white softness. His eyes didn't bother to fight it; he didn't bother to make them. The world had fallen away into a sort of waterfall around him. Him and Alec.

Magnus couldn't deny that he had hoped fervently to come by Alec again in the past few days, but had he known it would have been under these circumstances, he would have never. No Alec at all was better than Alec in pain. But still, Magnus was finally touching his face again, gazing down upon him again. Take away the situation, the pain, the tight, stressed look on Alec's face, and this was right where he wanted to be again. Where he wanted Alec to be again. Where he wanted them both to belong – together on the outskirts of Heaven.

That was how Magnus felt when he was with Alec. As though he was taken by the hand, lifted from the hell he had been told that he was condemned to ever since he was a child, and shown the world of the light. Two steps from his angel – never really in Alec's heart, but not far away. It was a strangely liberating feeling, to discover after centuries of thinking that he had lost the ability to feel love rather than lust, that there was still someone who could lift him up into that feeling.

Ironically enough, a Shadowhunter.

Most people didn't typically think of Nephilim and Lilith's Children as polar opposites, but when it came down to it, they were both partially human. One, however, had the blood of angels, and the other demons.

Magnus never thought, in (not quite literally) a million years, that this little Shadowhunter, rattled and emotionally aching himself, would be the first to lift him up to the clouds in years. But now, feeling his insides twist inside his body as he looked back down on Alec Lightwood, he had no trouble believing it.

But the oath… the oath. The only thing holding them together was the problem that Magnus was trying to work through. Somehow silent, even while his insides were screaming, he wondered if once Alec was rid of the bond, that things would go back to the way they had been only hours before. If Magnus would be plunged back into his Hell, the way he had when Alec had ended their relationship.

The worst part had been disguising his hurt as anger. It wasn't as easy has he had hoped. It could have been worse… but it had been bad, letting Alec out his front door, left alone to swallow his sorrow up in silence. If it weren't for Chairman Meow's slightly irritable reassurance, Magnus wasn't sure how he would have managed to convince himself that his total despondency wasn't real.

_ And you won't be able to right now if you keep thinking about it, idiot._

Beneath his hands, Alec made a soft noise. More pain. More pain that Magnus wasn't yet able to heal.

The thought stung more than he liked to admit, Magnus acknowledged as the door whispered open.

"How's he doing?" Isabelle's voice had an edge to it, and edge that was all at once dangerous and vulnerable.

"Asleep," Magnus whispered back, eyes fixed on Alec's features. "Still."

The nonexistent sound of Isabelle's sitting down beside him met his ears. "You can go," she told him stiffly. "If you'd like."

"If I'd like?" Magnus said, cooly, smoothly, burying his sudden anger in his façade as he removed his hand from Alec's face. "Lightwood, whatever gave you the idea that I'd _like_ to leave Alec's side? Ever? Especially with him in a state like this. I know that you know about us."

When Isabelle said nothing in reply, Magnus growled under his breath, any desire to hide his irritation gone. "Cry me a river. What is your _deal_ with me, Isabelle?"

Silence decorated the air again. Isabelle had not shifted her gaze the entire time; then, she looked over to Magnus.

"Get out of this room," she told him simply. "Get the hell out, before I hurt you."

_You already have, _Magnus thought. "You couldn't and you wouldn't," he said out loud.

And then…

Silence. Bleeding silence.

"I don't hate you, you know."

Magnus let the silence continue to drip vermillion. He felt as though he were playing with it, sliding it over his palms and through his fingers.

Isabelle sighed. "What can you do?" Magnus heard her teeth grind together.

Voice once again perfunctory, he said, "I just need an empty room, some of my stuff – which the powers of this place will allow me to summon over here, correct?" Isabelle hesitated, then nodded. "I conscious Alec, myself, and no Clary. Simple ritual, really. I should be able to take the Oath on myself. The angelic powers will combat with the demonic lineage inside me, and the former should be canceled out by the latter. It'll die."

An elegant eyebrow climbed Isabelle's forehead. "Will it?"

"It has to. Look, I may be only half demon by birth, but demonic blood, as I'm sure you know, Nephilim, is stronger than human blood. Much, much stronger." Magnus's features modeled danger – he felt dangerous, too. Like a walking source of power. More power than usual. "An oath won't be strong enough to break that. I've done this before."

"But what would happen? If it did win, hypothetically?"

A short, impatient sigh. "My ego is stinging. Have you no faith in me?"

"Not much." It wasn't much of a confession, coming from Isabelle. "I like you, Magnus. It doesn't seem like it, but I do. I just don't trust you. Not your powers. Not with Alec." Her tawny eyes burned at him out of the darkness. "I trust you with Alec's life, but not with _him_."

_I don't know. The oath could be placed on the warlock, or, hypothetically, the warlock could die. Or maybe the angelic blood would overpower the human blood, and you would get fey. I don't know. I was never good at math, and magic is sort of an erratic form of it. _If only Magnus could say the words out loud. If only he could think out loud. He missed it, sometimes. Missed showing his soul instead of a brightly painted mask. But one was not only more vulnerable, but uglier. And in Magnus's experience, being quick was more important to survival than being expressive. Only if you could manage to slip out of your mask, could you afford it…

"If it failed," he answered, solidly, hands clasped together solemnly, "it would do no harm to Alec. Emotional, mental, or physical. If it would, on _any_ of those levels -" his eyes flashed – "I wouldn't attempt it. Now, where _is_ Clary?"

"Jace is going after her." The words came from behind a curtain of dark hair, though the Shadowhunter seemed partially appeased by his answer. "I'm sure he won't bring her back here after what happened, so here you go, a Clary-free day. Decade, more likely."

Magnus reached his hand up to his shoulder, an action he would have corrected instantly had Isabelle not sense the immediate replacement of his arm by his side awkward. He hoped the tense Shadowhunter didn't feel his intense displeasure at the motion, which was a nervous habit left over from his childhood, when his life was hell and his war was long and unstyled enough to tug at the ends of from that point. Century upon century, he realized, and he was still a complete hypocrite. His compassion, if anything, must have only dwindled with his age. How calm he was, how blank when he worked with other clients of his facing danger, pain, death. And how… how _broken_ he had been left by _this._

Over time, Magnus had also come to realize that he was a remarkably selfish bastard. He was unused to feeling something so deep, to be connecting so strongly with another being. He had always had a maze up around himself, though what made the maze had differed as far as from simple silence to glitter and snarky remarks in the years that had flown by. Astoundingly few people actually found their way through to the end. Oh, he let some people think they had made the right turn –and they would find themselves seemingly _right there._ But really, it would just be some sort of illusion, and then they would wake up, and they would open their eyes to see they're nowhere close to where he really is. But Alec, there was no stopping him. Those eyes were stronger than any wall, whether composed of silence or glitter, made by man or magic.

Magnus shook his head to clear it of the cluttered, useless tirades. He glanced over at Isabelle, who, though she was again looking at Alec, had the air of watching him expectantly. Voice polished, Magnus ordered, "We're going to take care of this. Call Jace. Right now. Tell him to make sure Clary doesn't come back here. This is going to work out."

Wordlessly, Isabelle squeezed Alec's hand, and her skirt provided the whisper of her exit. Magnus heard it, and didn't bother to watch her go, now taking Alec's fingers for his own and fixing his eyes back on the wall, feeling Alec's presence in his chest like a the sore, awake feeling one gets after crying.

.........

Jace was not having a good day. In fact, even with the current state of disarray his entire life was in in mind, his day had been exceptionally bad.

And then his cell phone started ringing.

Spitting out a loud, visceral curse, Jace reached into his pocket, pulled it out with embarrassing clumsiness, and essentially screamed into the mouthpiece, "WHAT?!"

"Keep Clary away from the Institute, that's what," came Isabelle's voice, just as shiny as her nails, which she had painted red just last Wednesday after she and her elder brothers had returned from a highly productive trip of hunting, complaining that their current blue reminded her too much of the blood of the creature with sickly yellow scales and seemingly random patches of fur that they had dispatched.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Jace spit, irritation wavering like a candle left burning too long in the electronic echo of his voice. "You think she's ever going to want to have anything to do with the Shadow world, with _us_, after this?" The obvious _With me_ seeped into his words silently.

Isabelle's voice did not suggest she was in a sympathetic mood. "She won't have a choice. It'll work out," she said airily. "Did _she_ tell you that?"

Rolling his eyes, Jace found the tiny bit of sarcasm inside him that his anger had not stepped on and used it to reply, "Well, no, but she _seemed_ pretty upset."

Isabelle's silence invited him to elaborate.

"Is Alec okay?"

"He's alive, and more himself." Her voice had just as much of an expectant edge.

"She, um, happened to have a stele on her…"

A static sigh. "Where are you?"

"It's really not necessary to come. She put my stele on the other side of the room. I'm almost there. I'll be good to go in ten minutes, less."

He could hear Isabelle moving through the Institute, heels clacking and fingers twisting doorknobs. He wondered if she was coming out of or going back into the depths of the Institute. "Are you going to come back here?"

"Should I?" Jace grunted as he moved his torso another inch across the ground. "What's going on over there? You sound… sort of like you tore your favorite shirt or something."

"Magnus is here." _Ah_. "Apparently, Alec swore an oath on the Angel to kill Clary."

Jace, who had been inching himself into laying on his side, sputtered and toppled over.

"I'll see you in ten minutes." Isabelle didn't sound like herself, more like a scared little girl. But whoever she was, she hung up then.

Jace fumbled his phone shut, and then returned to his previous task – trying to get his bound hands over his equally restrained legs, in order to thread them beneath his back and push himself up.

When, once again, his legs were unable to follow his requests to _bend_, Jace leveled his wrists in front of his eyes. The rope binding them, as well as his legs, all the way from wrist to elbow, hips to toes, was obviously not your average mundane rope – or even your average Shadowhunter rope, or not one that he recognized. It was vivid green, and translucent, the gray of his shirt faintly visible through the cloudy patches that were literally swirling across the surface of the braided material. As he shifted, he felt no friction against his skin, just a cold, soft sensation. Touching the rope with his fingertips felt much the same, with no real end to grasp and undo.

Not an intelligible word had come from Clary's mouth when he had finally caught up to the girl, but the fear roiling in her and the runes she had scribbled in the air and directed around his limbs has said a lot more than she would have otherwise been able to communicate. Jace himself was now communicating via angry curses as he finally managed to roll a few feet closer to his stele, censor, and weapons, on the opposite side of the subway worker's bathroom, all, like himself, glamoured into near invisibility. Why she hadn't confiscated his cell phone, he could guess – so he could either attempt his escape, or humble up and call for help.

Both were difficult. Not to mention with a terrified sister, half-crazed step-brother, and some seriously messed up love triangles to think about.

No. He wouldn't think about it.

"Five minutes," he grumbled into some wildly tousled golden hair. "Five minutes. And I will be out."


End file.
